


I’m Not Dead ( Just Floating )

by happy_rascal



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Curt beats himself up, Curt doesn’t know what time it is this entire fic, Fix-It of Sorts, Fix-it fic, I didn’t know Susan’s pronouns so I went neutral, I repeat, Italics, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Owen Carvour Lives, Owen Carvour is not dead, Post-Canon, a lot of italics, couldn't have done it without your heartbreaking winter soldier mind wiping scene, honestly you’ll get what you get, i had an idea and had to do it, i have college tomorrow, its not an attempt at humour so im sorry if I make you laugh, it’s kinda sad, kind of sort of don't appreciate it but I also kind of do, thanks to winter soldier for giving me the inspiration, that’s all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_rascal/pseuds/happy_rascal
Summary: Honestly, Curt should have looked closer at the man he shot.He should have remembered that there’s always someone else under the mask.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	I’m Not Dead ( Just Floating )

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled One Step Ahead ( Again )  
> 

Curt had told everyone he was over it. That’d he’d moved on. So as he stood looking in his bathroom mirror and brushing his teeth a little too hard, he belatedly realised he was not over it. The thought of what happened - over two years ago now - still playing in his mind, it always happened when he was alone and had nothing to do. That’s why taking down Chimera was such a huge deal. Not just because it stopped millions of people’s privacy being invaded, it also gave Curt something to do. He was selfish like that. But now he nothing to do. A.S.S didn’t want him back, especially not after he took down Chimera without any kind of authorisation from any part of the government ( and not a single thanks to go with it ).

With nothing to do, Curt just curled in on himself daily. Barb had noticed, the Informant had noticed - hell even over the _phone_ , Tati had noticed. Curt Mega was just a shell, no longer a man. No longer the confident and swaggering dumbass he once was. He could still picture the limp, lifeless body of his former partner, the blood that ran from the middle of his head and he could still see those now gormless brown eyes that once held love and a mischievous gleam. He could still hear the gunshot followed by the echoing _thud_ as his lover’s body hit the floor that night. Sometimes, when the nights got really bad, he could even smell the iron from the blood as it seeped into the wooden stairs, staining the timber like it stained his memory. _Ma thinks it’s PTSD. Maybe she’s right._ Curt thinks, gloomily.

His mother still doesn’t know who or what they were to each other, just rumpus room buddies is all she knew. The only person Curt ever told was Tati but of course Cynthia probably knew - definitely knew. Yet, he’d told everyone he was over it. Told everyone it was a whisper in the wind now, nothing more. It wasn’t but nobody had to know.

No, Curt Mega was _not_ over the death of Owen Carvour. 

So maybe that was why Cynthia turned up at his house two weeks later in a suit identical to the one he last saw her in. He knew he had always been like a son to her ( she’d said it once, it was very exciting ) and he knew the concerned mother look when he saw it. The only trouble was it was 5:3O in the morning, he was still in bed, she was throwing every insult under the sun at him and he was pretty sure he locked the door before he went to bed the night before.

As Curt tried to gather his thoughts, Susan came in the bedroom and placed a tray on his lap with a full breakfast on a plate for him. Curt didn’t own a food tray. Still, he knew better than to interrupt Cynthia when she was on one of her rants and began to tuck into his food. At some point, through the insults, Cynthia decided to pepper in the fact that she’d got Susan to put a little arsenic in his food before serving it to him. While Curt was spitting the undigested food out of his mouth, Cynthia kept talking. “Oh relax, Mega - it’s not enough to kill you.”

”Cynthia?”

”Yes moron?”

”Why are you here?” Curt must have looked absolutely hopeless because a rare thing happened. Cynthia sighed, her shoulders lowered and she looked at Curt with _feeling_. Curt knew he wasn’t exactly in the best of shape but he’d managed to not get fat and he hadn’t grown a beard so he hoped that gave him some redemption points with his former boss ( Curt started to realise a lot of the people he knew were a former something in one way or another ).

”Mega, I’m reinstating you as an agent for the American Secret Service.” Cynthia said with some finality in her voice but Curt had done this a couple of times now and wasn’t exactly surprised about it.

”Why? I thought I fucked everything up. Again.”

”Mega, for the love of Christ please for once don’t ask questions and just do what you're told.” Cynthia replied with an exasperated sigh as Susan shook their head behind her.

”I have a right to kno-“

”Because you need something to do, Mega!” Cynthia’s voiced was raised - not unusual - but there was a desperation behind it, a begging tone to her voice. Curt stopped, he looked down at his poisoned plate and the crumbs from various comfort foods and he realised. Barb must have said something - it could have even been Tati. Clearly someone he knew had given Cynthia the heads up. “I’m not just saying that to make you feel bad or even because someone asked me to. I’m doing it because if you don’t do something I’m afraid of what you’ll end up doing to yourself. Please Mega, come back with us. We’ll keep you busy.” Cynthia never begged, never said _please_.

”Sorry Cynthia but I don’t think I can.”

“Mega, he’s gone - I’m sorry but you have to move on. Whatever went on between you two: it’s over. Owen is dead.” Cynthia had sat down on the bed next to Curt, the hand not holding a cigarette placed on his shoulder gently. And Curt had known he was not over what happened to Owen Carvour but nobody had said it to him so. . . _directly_. And that’s what got him. Cynthia turned her head to Susan and Susan nodded silently then left without a word. Curt ugly cried. He sobbed so hard, his body hurt and his head ached but he couldn’t stop. Two years worth of tears pouring out onto the left shoulder-pad of Cynthia's jacket . Cynthia placed one hand on the back of his head, applying enough pressure to let him know she was there but not too soft or too hard. It grounded Curt in a way he couldn’t explain. He finally had another grounding person again and it almost made things worse. Curt and Cynthia stayed like that for a long time, neither looking for a clock to give an accurate time. Cynthia had never felt so evil her entire life.

Once Curt had packed up his life again ( he was learning to travel light - so far he’d got down to two suitcases ) and he and Cynthia walked out of the building towards a black car - Cynthia saying that all his affairs had been sorted for the apartment already. Although he still didn’t have a great time-frame, Curt worked out he’d been upstairs with Cynthia for a very long time because Susan had fallen asleep in the driver’s seat. Cynthia smacked the window and poor Susan jolted awake. She got in the back and Curt followed, as he got in he heard the quiet threat of “If you ever tell a sole about what you heard and saw in that room I swear I will make you wish you’d never woken up from that nap.” from Cynthia barely whispered into Susan’s ear.

The car started and Curt leant his head back and fell back to sleep. He still didn’t know what time it was but all that crying had taken it out of him completely. 

.:.:.:.

When Owen has revealed himself from under the guise of The Deadliest Man Alive, Curt was sure he'd imagined it just as he had seen Owen's face wherever he went during that entire mission; from a scientist in Barb's lab to a little Nazi child when he was tied to a chair in the hotel room at the casino. And so he thought it was the same thing then. But then Tati had said Owen's _name_ and he realised it really was _him_. It wasn't just another moment of madness after withdrawing from alcohol so suddenly like he had put all the other visions down to. Sure, it was actually more likely to be his own guilt and anguish appearing before him as a figment of his own imagination in the form of his ex-lover but actually _seeing_ him, being no less than five feet away from him was devastating.

As Owen stood in front of him that day, Curt had never felt so betrayed and yet still so hopeful. Like maybe it was one of Owen’s dumb impersonations he used for interrogations and he would start laughing at how easy Curt was to fool and they’d hug and they’d hold it tight and everything would be fine and normal. But that didn’t happen. The horror of staying alive. That’s what Owen had said when he’d been The Deadliest Man Alive. Curt didn’t understand it when he was being tortured ( he had other things to worry about - ironically one of them being what Owen would think of him ) but in that moment, as he stood there, he understood.

Curt almost wished he was seeing things that day. It would have stopped the gaping hole that grew and festered on his insides after he said goodbye to Owen for the last time. He’d almost asked for a psych evaluation when he walked into A.S.S before Cynthia formerly fired him but he decided against it. Thought it wouldn’t look good after his first mission back after four years. More irony. 

Despite knowing what Owen had done, Curt still thought of taking down Chimera as something he was doing in memory of Owen. And in a way it was. If it hadn’t have been for Chimera, Owen would still be his Owen - Curt hoped. Would still be _the_ Owen Carvour. Maybe then they could have started again. Introducing themselves as if they hadn’t known each other for such a long time. They would hold back knowing smiles and play along with each other, chase each other again until they fell back into being the team they had always been. 

But if Curt hadn’t left him in the first place, then things _would_ have been different. Really, this was all Curt’s fault. He never checked to see if Owen was still alive in that weapons facility. He should have checked. How could he leave his partner there, on the floor in agonising pain? Why didn’t he risk his life for Owen like he had so many times before? Owen would have risked his life for Curt. That’s why he was always better than him. 

.:.:.:.

The next four months for Curt were spent on nothing but back-to-back missions and, while six years before, Curt would have screamed bloody murder about this, now he didn’t argue or whine. Cynthia was back to being a hard-ass boss and both her and Curt had silently agreed to never speak about what happened at the apartment. Except Curt could still tell that Cynthia was still making sure he was okay. Her way of helping him and getting him through his grief was to give him what he needed - give him something to do. The missions weren’t always that major, especially when he first came back, to her credit, Cynthia eased him back into the job unlike two years ago but that was a different circumstance, Curt guessed.

After the first two months, Curt was happy his missions were getting longer and more difficult. He could be on a mission for weeks and no one would hear a peep out of him. The longer missions provided him with a constant distraction and he could isolate his thoughts to just the target and the task at hand. Nothing could touch him when he was on the job. 

The nights were still a problem. Even on missions - Curt would think about the next day coming for hours until he had nothing to think about but his ex-partner's pale body lying on the morgue slab at the agency. He was the one to carry Owen's body back to the safe house and then into the 'body van' Cynthia had arranged ( it was disguised as an ambulance ) and then into the agency's morgue. 

Curt had never seen Owen so lifeless. It sounded ridiculous to say it like that but it was the only thing Curt could think. His body never looked so pale, his eyes never so wide, his mouth never so slim. Curt couldn't even see the faintest hint of a smirk. It didn't settle with him. Curt always thought that Owen would die with a smirk on his face especially when he knew no matter what Curt did he'd still won. That's what didn't make sense. This Owen, the dead Owen, looked almost scared to die. Almost scared to see the gun that shot him. Owen would never have been scared to look down the barrel of a gun. 

Maybe Curt didn't know Owen as well as he thought.

But Owen was certain he won - he'd said it didn't matter if Curt killed him, Chimera would still live on. There should have been a smirk. Why wasn't there a smirk?

.:.:.:.

Cynthia was there to meet Curt when he got back from Cyprus. His mission had taken him over the five month mark of being back at A.S.S and Curt was doing well. The Cyprus mission had been long and arduous as he had to track an arms dealer to his hotel and take up the role of 'inappropriately friendly American who won't leave you alone'. He'd taken a great deal of joy having the job to piss someone off. And it had been justifiable to Cynthia. It had taken him a few weeks because the arms dealer had a nasty habit of finding ways to get away from Curt but Curt kept finding new ways to be annoying and eventually the dealer slipped up. He had been due to meet with a buyer a half an hour after Curt had found him again. Curt stalled the guy for a good forty five minutes before the dealer exploded in a fit of anger and stormed out, completely forgetting how to keep an eye over his shoulder. The bust was fairly easy, too. A simple in and out operation once the arrest was in place. 

Curt and Cynthia walked through the halls of the agency, closing in on her office to talk about the mission and for Cynthia to no doubt call him a fuck-nugget or a twat waffle for some reason. The pair walked in silence, Curt trying not to let the image of his former partner get the better of him and Cynthia trying not to wring Curt's neck from all the nervous energy he radiated when he walked to her office whilst also trying not to explode in her own ball of nervous energy as she tried not to give away at how worried she was for her best agent.

Cynthia walked in first, her head down as she started to light a cigarette. Curt almost ran her down when she stopped in her tracks. Curt didn't look around her office, knew it too well to bother. His head had been hanging a little lower ever since The Staircase and so he just looked at Cynthia when he walked into her. 

Then he noticed the look on her face. The horrified look and her mouth opened, her lips trembling while her cigarette burnt a small hole in the carpet. "Cynthia?"

A small whimper came out before she said, "Mega, look up you _fucking_ moron."

Curt followed his boss' eye-line slowly, eyes darting to corners and shelves making sure there's nothing dangerous but eventually his sight fell on something he wished he'd never seen. Wished he never had to see again. 

Owen Carvour's crumpled body laid out on Cynthia's desk. “You said he was dead.” But Curt looked at Cynthia’s face, still so pale and frozen in shock. Cynthia’s eyes flitted to Curt’s face, her mouth moved as if she was going to say something but found she couldn’t. Curt knew this was genuine. He moved towards the desk, slowly rounding the desk to where Cynthia usually sits and looks down at Owen’s face. Curt takes a second to note Owen is the second person he’s seen after two years who is also wearing the identical outfit he saw them in last. Owen’s eyes we closed and it was the most peaceful he’d clearly been in over six years. Curt could have wept at the sight. He was almost ashamed to think that way again but he had other things to focus on. 

Curt called Susan in to take care of Cynthia and then called down to the infirmary to tell them to expect a new patient soon. Susan walked into the office and waited as Cynthia screamed into their neck for about 3O seconds ( 15 seconds longer than usual ) and then stood up straight, stubbed out her still burning cigarette with her foot and ushered Curt out of the way of her seat. “Mega, take Carvour down to the infirmary and then come straight back up - no fucking around gazing at his face for five fuckin’ minutes before coming back up we haven’t got time for it.” Curt rolled his eyes but nodded dutifully and turned to leave. “Oh, and Curt? This is serious. Owen may be back but for a reason and somebody managed to get in here without a clearance card and into my office without anyone seeing. We’ve been infiltrated - we can’t afford to be vulnerable.” Curt nodded again and left, Owen in his arms. 

.:.:.:.

Curt sat with his chin resting on his clasped hands which were resting on his knees as he waited by Owen’s bed in the agency’s infirmary. He honestly couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, he was pretty sure it’d been a few days but time seemed to be going very slowly as he waited for Owen to wake up. He’d been waiting so long and Owen hadn’t even raised so much as an eyebrow. No one else was in the infirmary so Curt figured it was late. He took a deep breath and finally moved his body from its slouched position. His arms and back ached from being so still for so long, Curt leant back in his chair. 

He justified his next actions by telling himself he needed to hear a voice again. “H-hi, Owen. It’s me. Curt.” His voice came out hoarse, how long had it been since he spoken? “It’s been a while, huh? I. . .I can’t believe I can still say this after everything but I’ve missed you. I didn’t get over. . .anything. Not what happened the first time, not what happened the second. Both were my fault. You know, I keep thinking about that night on the staircase. I killed you. I put a bullet in your brain yet you’re still here. No offence but I can’t decide if I’m happy or sad. A little annoyed I guess. Like, just when I think I’ve got a lid on it, that maybe I can move on you come back and I feel like I’m back at square one. I’ve been sober for two years now, though. I don’t know if who you may be now will be proud of that but I am so. You’re not awake to shut me up so I’m going to keep talking. Even if you can hear me wherever you are in your head right now, think of this as a little punishment from me. Do you remember me anymore? Am I just an experience of the past to you or do I still hold a place in your head, if not your heart?" Curt swallows hard. "Barb thinks it's brainwashing. I'm not sure. I wish I could be but she didn't see the _hate_ , you know? I'm not trying to make you feel bad if that's how the new you might think, I just - you said you probably spent more time hating me than I did myself but that's not possible. I hated myself from the moment I ran. I was a coward, you, you would have risked your life if there was a possibility I might have been alive but I didn't. I just ran, I didn't even _try_. That's why you're better than me - why you've always been. That's why I can't believe it's brainwashing, that kind of _hate_ and-" Curt looked for the right words "-and _need_ for revenge doesn't come from anyone else except for the person who felt the pain in the first place. That's why it's called a 'crime of passion', right? I would like to believe it's brainwashing, that _my_ Owen was still there even deep down but the truth is: I deserve the hate. I deserve your loathing.

"The selfish part of me wants to say 'forget it, it's brainwashing, he still loves you' but that would be naive as well as selfish. And that's the thing: I never saw an ounce of love on that staircase. And I tried to get you to remember, to get you to re-think. But you didn't. You just pointed that gun at my head. You talked for a long time, though." Curt huffed out a laugh, a little humour behind it but mostly just misery. "Could never shut you up, though, even at the most obvious of times. But, _oh_ , Owen, that night you looked at me with such detest and now I see that face in the mirror everyday. You could never hate me as much as I hate myself. You were the one I loved the most, probably still are. No - you are." Curt dragged his hands down his face with a heavy sigh and realised he'd ended sitting forward again, he leant back before standing up quickly. 

Curt closed his eyes, partly to stop the tears that were forming too quickly and partly because he had headrush. As he waited for the dizziness to pass, a tiny voice croaked out, "Where are you going?".

Curt's eyes snapped open and he looked down. _Brown_. One look into those brown eyes and Curt couldn't help himself. He pulled the chair closer and sat down again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." And that was that. Owen's eyes closed again and those brown eyes were gone. But so was Curt, in a different way. He knew he should probably call someone but he didn't want to just yet, he could wait until morning. After all, he'd said he wasn't going anywhere, right? The infirmary staff would back in the morning. Curt leant back and slept in what felt like days. Maybe it had been - he's still not sure.

The next time Curt wakes up, he sees an empty hospital bed, a little note in the middle of it.

_Mega, we've taken your boyfriend to the lab for some tests for the nerds to find out why he's so fucked up. Come down when you're finally awake, you lazy ass._

_P.S. you owe Barb an apology, she was the one who saw you and Carvour holding hands asleep this morning. Next time you wanna do that get a room. Can't afford to lose your fucking dumb ass again._

Curt's mind started racing:

1\. Owen was _not_ fucked up. He was sure of that. 

2\. He was _not_ lazy, thank you very much.

3\. Barb saw?

4\. When did he even hold Owen's hand? He can't even remember falling asleep like that. He and Owen always had a habit of finding their way back to each other, it seemed. 

Curt turned the note over:

_Get down here, Mega._

The walk down to the lab was terrifying. What if Barb _said_ something? Clearly Barb said something to Cynthia so why wouldn't she say anything to anyone else? Susan knew, or at least figured _something_ out, they were there too that day in the apartment. Jesus, Curt had trusted Barb and she speaks to _Cynthia_? Curt felt sick. He came past a toilet door and fell into the door before crashing his way into a stall. Curt collapsed to his knees and heaved the early lunch he'd had yesterday out of his stomach. He had never felt this fragile. He tried to stop his shaking as he heard footsteps walk through the door, the unmistakeable sound of very sharp stilettos hitting the floor. "You probably wanted Carvour to come in here and tell you everything's okay. That's not gonna happen. He's still in the lab being poked and prodded and pricked." Every word she spoke felt like venom spat from a snake. "You don't need to worry about Barb saying anything. She won't. Neither will Cynthia. All she wanted me to tell you was this: she's not going to fire you, though you've probably already figured that out. You're smarter than you think Mega. Cynthia knows it too." Red hair came into view as Tatiana bent down next to him, awkwardly rubbing his back, it still made Curt feel better. He hated how much he'd been relying on people lately. 

Once Curt had cleaned himself up, he and Tatiana left the bathroom, exchanged a few stories and caught up with each other as they made the rest of their way to the lab. At some point Curt's legs had started shaking and he couldn't find a way to stop them. He hoped Cynthia wouldn't be able to tell. She'd eat him alive for it.

"Stop shaking like a fuckin' leaf, Mega and get in here. Took you long enough to even get _down_ here." Cynthia boomed the moment Curt stepped in the doorway. "No you know what, dumb-dumb? Stay out there, don't want you falling apart in here - we'll go to my office in a minute, as soon as we're done."

"Cynthia, you can't make him stay out here - it's not fair." Tati tries to argue, she's doing her best but Curt knows it's useless. Cynthia always has an argument and always has the last word. Or in this case, the last look because she gives Tati a long, hard stare and Tati just sighs, gives Curt a sympathetic look and walks into the lab. _Probably going to see Barb and ask for an update_. Cynthia mumbles a few words to Susan who nods and walks over to where Curt assumes Owen is. 

"Mega walk with me." Cynthia clomps down the corridor and waves a hand to signal Curt to start walking with her. 

"Why wouldn't you let me in there? I'd just got there!" Curt said, completely ready to have this fight. 

"Wait until we get to my office, Mega, I'm not willing to have this conversation with you in front of every fucker that walks past." Curt shuts up and it's a very tense walk the rest of the way, a lot more tense than usual. 

Finally in Cynthia's office Curt starts to speak again but before the first word is even formed, Cynthia beats him to it. "If anyone else finds out that you and Carvour used bump uglies I will have your head mounted on my wall and your body used as my bathmat, do you understand, Mega?" Curt clamps his mouth shut and nods. So this is how this conversation will go. "You're lucky it was Barb I sent to go Carvour and not _anyone_ else. _God_ , Curt you know what year it is, right? You know what era we're living in?" Curt just nods, his silent reply in this very one-sided conversation. "When Barb took longer than ten minutes to come back I went to check myself 'cause God _knows_ I wasn't going to send anyone else if she had walked in on you two. . .doing things I would rather _not_ think about my finest agent and his boyfriend doing." Cynthia took a second to compose herself and Curt couldn't help himself.

"We're not boyfriends." He stated, sadly. Cynthia looked at him like she was seriously considering killing him.

"Really, Mega? _That's_ what you take from this? I'm trying to tell you that you could get _killed_ if someone finds out that you like dick and thinks it's a _fantastic_ idea to _report_ you but no. Curt Mega _insists_ everyone knows that whilst he's _deeply_ in love with Owen Carvour, they're not boyfriends. Also Barb is fucking _heartbroken_ so you better apologise to her before I break your pinky fingers for having her wrapped around them for so long." Cynthia stopped, fuming; Curt could practically _see_ the smoke coming out of her ears but her face changed to a very _resigned_ look and Curt realised she could see she had hit a nerve. "I keep doing that don't I?" Cynthia laughed bitterly. "Upsetting you. Mega, I'm not a woman of kind words but you _must_ realise I'm scared for you, I can't lose my best agent. I can't lose _you_."

Curt thought back to those words: _You know you're like a son to me, I've felt that way forever._ Sure, it was followed up with a few insults but Curt reminded himself that all of this was her way of _protecting_ him. He couldn't keep defying her if all she was doing was keeping him safe. Well, as well as she could what with his line of work.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Curt conceded. Cynthia's face lit up and Curt immediately regretted ever saying anything.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. Did you say. . . _you're sorry?_ My, oh, my, the great Curt Mega saying he's sorry. Why, this must be written in the history books! Curt Mega admitting somebody else is right and not him!" Cynthia kept mocking, gesturing and waving around with enough comedic value to rival the improv classes down at the Y. Curt sat there, face clearly unimpressed. Cynthia stopped after another couple of minutes before taking a deep breath. "Okay, Mega, do you wanna see your boy toy, now? I'm sure you have plenty of questions."

Curt rolled his eyes at the nickname but was out of his seat before his boss had even said her next sentence. He heard her laugh behind him but chose to ignore it. Sue him, he was. . .well, he was feeling something. He wasn't sure if it was excitement or anxiety. Honestly, he thought about throwing up again.

.:.:.:.

It was to Curt's surprise to find out that Owen was still in the lab. He walked into the big metallic silver room, fluorescents shining down on him. It reminded him of the weapons facility from two years ago. He tried not to think about it. God knows what it reminded Owen of. On the way to the lab, no one had given Curt any answers about how Owen was and what happened to him. Curt started to suspect that they knew about as much as he did. Which was nothing. 

Owen was sat, facing the opposite way, legs dangling over the side of a little bed, shoulders hunched and sitting perfectly still. Curt rounded the bed and saw Owen's face. It hadn't been years since he seen it, hours only but it still knocked the breath out of Curt to see his ex's face. Relief, maybe, anticipation, maybe or even surprise. Surprise that he's still there. Surprise that it's actually him. Surprise that there wasn't a hard stare and snarl on Owen's face. It was actually a vacant stare. Owen looked _zoned_ _out_ and it scared Curt a little. He'd never seen Owen look so far away in his own mind. Curt could have combust right there and then and Owen would never have noticed. 

"It seems as though he's gone through some pretty extensive torture." A high-pitched voice behind him says, the only noise in the usually whirring lab. _Barb_. Curt supposed he'll apologise later, after he knew Owen was okay. "He has some fairly distinguishing marks around his left eye and both temples." Barb sounded too mechanic, too unemotional, why was everyone treating this as if Owen wasn't their friend, their partner or the best agent the whole world had ever seen. He didn't stop to think that maybe Barb was distancing herself from _him_ instead of Owen. "It seems that he has had some sort of conditioning, maybe even brain washing -" _Bullshit_. "Perhaps something to wipe his mind, make him the person Chimera wanted him to be." Curt almost missed the flinch from Owen when Barb mentioned Chimera. Curt stepped closer, eyes always on Owen.

It wasn't necessarily a romantic thing, it was more of a way to judge exactly _which_ Owen they were faced with here. Curt wanted - no - _needed_ to know if this was where his heart broke all over again or maybe if he could help Owen pick up the pieces of his memory as he kept his heart glued together. Again, a selfish thing to think but Curt had started to know what looking after himself meant.

"Owen?" Curt tried.

"It won't work," Tati had stated. "He's been completely unresponsive." 

"Yeah, to _you_. No offence." 

"You'll forgive me if it's taken." Tatiana, woman of little words.

"Owen? I'm not going to treat you like you're stupid so I'm not going to come out with that bullshit like 'it's me, Curt.' or 'remember me?' like in those shitty movies you like." Curt paused. "Or liked. I don't really know. Things change, I guess." The rest lab kind of drifted off, a little further into the distance, like some kind of perspective blur. Curt wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say because of all things he'd thought about saying in the past, he never thought he'd actually get to say them so he sort of. . .forgot what he was going to say. So winging it was his only option. Owen would have said ( had he been the man he was before ) that it was typical Curt, always winging it and somehow it payed off. So Curt just had to hope it would pay off once more. "Should've known it wouldn't have been you. You're too clever for that, even if someone else is in control of your. . .you. Perhaps that means I didn't know you as well I thought." Curt leant in closer, bringing his voice to a whisper. "I thought I knew every inch of you but I guess I should have payed more attention." Curt brought his voice back up a little. "But those words, they were yours - doubt anyone else could have said them like that unless you'd written them a script."

"Earpiece." It comes out small, quiet but direct and sure. Curt straightens up, there's interested mutters from behind and the scratching of pen on paper. Curt just kept talking, trying a method of keeping Owen listening to him, didn't want him clamming up again.

"Yeah, that makes sense - your words, someone else's mouth. The guy was as good an actor as you. The mask was effective. You fooled me but then again -"

"That was always easy." Owen finished, eyes still glazed but clearly present somehow. The interested muttering behind Curt had increased to astounded chattering and there was the shuffling of feet everywhere.

Curt was pushed aside. "Thank you, Agent Mega," Barb began, "we appreciate the help, we'll let you know if we need your assistance any further."

"Barb I need to speak with you." Curt grabbed her arm lightly and pulled her aside, he did need to apologise, he should have let her down ages ago. Then again, he wasn't exactly the most observant of people when it can to women and their. . .interests in him.

"Curt, I'm busy." Barb pulled away.

"Barb please." Barb resigned and motioned out into the hallway. Curt was going to have to be careful about what he said. As they walked out, Cynthia looked after them, nodding to Curt in a somewhat appreciative manner.

Once out in the hall, Curt's mouth went dry as he stared at Barb whose arms were crossed and her right foot was tapping impatiently. "I haven't got all day, Mega." _Ouch_. He supposed he deserved it, though.

"Barb, I apologise for not being totally clear about my. . .intentions with our relationship. That was a weird way to put it. Um, look, what I'm trying to say is: I'm sorry. I've never exactly been savvy about how people - women, mostly - observe me. Unless it's a mission or whatever. But when it's someone I know, someone I _care_ about - as a friend -" _Not helping, Mega_ , "- it's a little more difficult to see it. You understand?" Barb was looking at him like he'd grown two heads. "I'm sorry, Barb, if it seemed like I led you on, like I was running you in circles I really wasn't - at least not intentionally." He looked at her, her steely gaze dropped after a few moments and she smiled sadly. 

"Oh, Curt, I'm not really mad at you. It's not your fault - obviously. I'm just a little mad at myself -" 

"Barb please don't be mad at yourself, you weren't to know -"

"No, Curt. I'm mad at myself for not seeing it sooner. Now I know, it's completely obvious." _Oh_. Well that was not how Curt expected this to go - should he be slightly offended that Barb just called him _obvious_? Barb just kept talking. "I mean, yes, I'm a little heartbroken and I admit the shock of seeing you and -" Barb looked around, checking for people before dropping her voice to a whisper, "- _Owen_ did make me rather hysterical but really: I just can't believe I didn't see it. Looking back on everything now, it's painfully obvious and really I should have realised and stepped back years ago. But you're not the world's greatest secret agent for nothing!" Barb was smiling by the time she'd finished talking and Curt didn't know how to feel.

"Well, it's good to know you're okay." He went with that - seemed like safe territory. "Glad to know _we're_ okay."

"Of course Curt." Barb went for an enthusiastic hug, startling Curt for a second but he yielded and let it happen. It was nice, made him feel good.

Barb pulled away and pushed up her glasses. She'd gotten new ones and they were a) even bigger than the last and b) bigger horn-rimmed ones than the last. Everyone knew she was very proud of them. "Now, Agent, we're going to be moving Agent Carvour to our interrogation room to ask him what happened while Chimera had a hold of him. We were going to ask one of our psychs to do the interview but considering how well he reacted to you, I was hoping you'd do it. Plus you have something that our lab guys don't: history and with history comes shared trauma. We're hoping your history and your memories will help pull him out of this regress. So, you know, keep throwing past memories in while you talk to him. We've got a set list of questions about Chimera but it's your job to ask them at the right times." Curt nodded. This was going to be interesting.

.:.:.:.

Curt didn't even know if his past with Owen was going to be enough to pull him back. Everyone seemed so confident because he'd gotten Owen to speak a total of 5 words. They still didn't know about the infirmary. He wasn't going to tell if Owen wasn't. He paced outside the interrogation room, waiting for someone to tell him when to go in. There were a total of seven people watching this interview/interrogation go down: Cynthia, Susan, Tati, Barb, the Informant and three other scientists. All behind one two-way mirror. There was one scientist out of those seven people in the actual interrogation room, handcuffing Owen to the table for "precaution". Once the scientist came out, Curt could go in. Curt stopped pacing for a second to hear Cynthia tell everyone that if any of them repeated a single word Owen or Curt would utter whilst in interrogation ( Curt was starting to hate that word ) she would make sure they disappeared forever. The scientist stepped out of the interrogation room and motioned to Curt to go in whenever. A few seconds later, the same scientist came out the back room where everyone was observing and promptly threw up into a bin. Cynthia's handiwork, no doubt. He gave Curt a thumbs up and they both stepped in their respective rooms.

Curt hesitated once he saw Owen sat there, a little more aware than before. If he had been operating at full capacity, Curt didn't doubt for a second that Owen would have noticed his hesitation and followed it up with something dumb like -

"Nervous? It's not your first time is it?" Curt's eyes widened. He had doubted the lucidity of his ex-partner's brain functions. 

"No, just warming up, don't want to cramp up halfway through." Curt smirked as he sat down opposite Owen. Curt could picture Cynthia being restrained by everyone in the back room from pressing the comms switch and telling them to stop flirting and get on with it. So, to spare him any shit and to spare her from bursting a blood vessel, he got on with it. "So, Owen, where have you been?" Curt wasn't going to read off the list just yet, he needed Owen willing to speak before that happened. "It's not like you've been hiding this entire time, I would have expected you to stop me taking down Chimera if I'd known you were alive." Owen shifted his gaze to the table. This was going to hurt finding out about his shenanigans from the last two years.

"You're really going to make this feel like an interrogation, aren't you?" Honestly, Curt didn't know how to answer that. There was a part of Owen that felt so familiar to Curt but he still felt so far away.

"Why else would we have you in an interrogation room?" Curt knew Owen wasn't an idiot, knew he knew that answering with another question was an easy way to confuse someone after a while but Curt also knew he had to start somewhere, so here he was.

"Well, I can think of a few things." There was a knowing smile on Owen's lips and Curt mirrored it. "Faint memories become clearer everyday." Curt didn't really understand what that meant. Of course, he understood what Owen's first remark was about, he could practically hear Cynthia gagging in the room behind him. But his second sentence, he understood the words, could out them together and see the structural meaning however, underneath the surface, there was something more. 

"Yes, well, I'm sure some memories will hold some value for us here." Curt crosses his arms awkwardly and shifts his feet.

"Oh yes? And what about the ones that we value?” Owen leant forward, that dumb smile on his face but there was an earnest in his question. And, really, who was Curt to deny that?

”They were made for outside the interrogation room.”

“That implies I will get out of here.”

”If you help us.” Owen sighed and drew back.

“Why must you spoil my fun, Mega?”

”You were taken by Chimera, Owen, we need to know everything you know.” There was a few seconds of quiet as the two stared each other down, something that felt all too familiar to Curt; he found he was strangely comforted by it. 

"Curt, you took down Chimera, remember?" Owen reminded him as he rolled his eyes, Curt felt the comfort be replaced by unmatched frustration, he'd forgotten Owen's unique talent of being able to wind him up.

"Thank you, Owen," Curt bit out through his teeth, "I am aware." Curt unclenched his jaw. "But I need to know if there was a remaining few, someone clearly dropped you off on our doorstep. And why not back in England? I don't understand that either."

"You think I do? Curt, when you first started making moves on Chimera, they stuck me in a chair and zapped my brain until I was drooling and seeing stars." Curt winced, he didn't like to think about the horrors Owen endured. "After that, they dumped on a cargo ship and when I became lucid enough to recognise my surroundings, we were docking into the Venice cargo port." There was more silence, it was stunned and awkward. 

"What did you do?" Curt decided to abandon the the list completely, he moved it out of the way and chose to get the answers his own way. God, Cynthia was going to kill him. He didn't really care.

"Did what I should have done years before they got to me: I went freelance. Found the right people, got the word out I was ex-agent, ex-Chimera - you weren't the only people who knew about Chimera - and then people starting to coming to me, people outside of Venice, outside of Italy, people started giving me travel expenses as well as payment for what they needed. I did a lot of things, none of it was any worse than I'd done before."

"Okay, so you had it good, decent pay-"

"Decent? It was bloody amazing."

"-right okay. Anyway, so you did all that and had it good, had it real good. So how did you end up unconscious in Cynthia's office?" Curt swung an arm out to the side, palm of his left hand facing upward. And that's when the facade broke away, that's when the mask came off. Everything Owen had built up since the lab, the smile, the glint in his eyes, all disappeared. Even when he'd been talking about what Chimera did to him, Curt never saw this Owen. He saw it now and it was heartbreaking. Owen looked twenty years older and his eyes screamed _pain, pain, pain_. Curt didn't need to hear what was coming next, it seemed obvious to him. But he had a job to do and so he had to make sure Owen told his story. _God, this was going to be painful._

"There was one left, Curt. You took down Chimera but you didn't take down all the members, maybe you missed him, everyone was always good at covering their tracks and hiding." This was Curt's fault, _oh god it's my fault_. "I was in Chicago. I was doing a job, a woman in need of a hitman because her sister was taking over her business - it wasn't unusual to come across petty means for hitmen but there was good money in it so I didn't really care. I was out, I'd finished the job, was over pretty quickly - I'm good at what I do." Owen raised an eyebrow as did Curt, a simple thing that told them both what they were thinking. "But I was celebrating at this dive bar before going back to my motel and packing. I stepped out the bar and then it went dark." Curt was surprised Owen was taken so easily, he was usually so careful even when inebriated. 

"How did the guy get the jump on you? That doesn't sound like Owen Carvour to me." Then again, Curt supposes, he hasn't known what Owen Carvour sounds like for a long time.

"Absinthe. Knocks the sense out of me, remember?" Curt remembered, a far away memory but he remembered. He remembered the two of them wasted on absinthe, going back to cheap hotel ( somehow it made it past the title of motel but there didn't seem to be a massive difference ), hands wandering and drifting across torsos while drunken mumbles topple from lips as feet stumble and trip towards the nearest bed. Hushed voices ring in Curt's ears, whispers of 'I love you's and restrained moans feel their way to the front of Curt's thoughts, something that hasn't happened in a while, not even in his dreams. Curt wasn't sure he _did_ dream anymore.

When he was grieving ( both times ) his memories of Owen were always so clear. It's why he took so long to stop grieving, he was scared to forget Owen. He realised at some point that remembering Owen didn't have to feel like PTSD, it could feel warm and welcoming. They didn't always have to be so present but they would never truly go away, he didn't have to forget if he didn't want to. That comforted Curt greatly. 

"Yeah, I remember." He smiled slightly, aimed it at the metal table in front of him so Owen wouldn't see it so well.

"Yes, well absinthe was my drink of choice that night, thought I'd earned it after so long. This fellow jumped me and I was out cold. Ever dreamt on absinthe?" Owen asked suddenly, Curt nodded. They both knew he had. They both had. "Your dreams get weird, right? Yeah mine was weird. You were in it, though." Curt drew in a sharp breath, they were getting off topic. He didn't dare let himself through a glance towards the mirror behind him.

"What happened when you woke up?"

"Ooooh so business-like Curt, you'll get me going." Owen cocked an eyebrow for what may have been the fifth time, Curt was losing count but he smiled anyway.

"I'll get you going later, for now, tell me what happened." Curt humoured Owen, figuring a 'if you can't beat them, join them' attitude may be the only way to approach Owen as he recounted this particular tale of horror.

"Promises, promises. But when I woke up, I was here. In the lab. Can we get out of here now?"

" _No. You trying to tell us you don't remember what happened in between getting drunk and being dumped on our doorstep, Carvour?"_ Cynthia's voice crackled through the comms unit harshly.

"That's what I said Cynthia, dear. How are you by the way? Haven't had a chance to talk to you yet - we must catch up soon." Owen smiled with a cheeky gleam in his eye.

" _Yeah, sure Carvour as soon as you tell us what's going on we can get brunch and shoot_ _the shit."_ No matter what she said and how she said it, Cynthia had always had a soft spot for Owen and it made Curt a little jealous. He tried not to let it get to him too much.

" _Anyway_ , thanks Cynthia. Owen, can you tell us anything else?" Owen's face lit up for a second, it sent Curt back over six years and somehow he knew what was coming.

"Jeez are you jealous?"

"Just tell me, Owen. Please. Then we can get out of here."

"Yeah right. _You'll_ get out of here, _I'll_ go back to the infirmary. I'm not stupid." 

"Owen. Come on." Owen sighed, it was obvious he was reluctant. Owen could be like a stubborn little kid sometimes and Curt realised why it was him specifically that had been sent in there. He knew how to deal with Owen's stubbornness just as Owen knew how to deal with his. "Look, you do this, you don't have to spend another night in the infirmary - an hour, tops. They'll give you a once-over and make sure you're not going to die immediately and then you're free to go."

"Free to go where? Curt, I'm in Washington with no place to go."

"You can come back with me." It was a reflex. It was instinct. He wasn't expecting to say it but it just sort of. . .slipped out. It was something they used to say to each other when they were in their respective countries. It was something they whispered to each other as they were leaving bars, something they promised each other after a day doing paperwork in the agency.

Owen's face showed about as much surprise as Curt's probably did but Curt could tell he was considering it. The waiting and anticipation for the answer was probably the closest Curt had actually felt to dying despite being in many a situation where was _actually_ in mortal danger. 

Eventually Owen smiled and his look softened. "Okay. But you have to promise that I won't be going back to the imfirmary for the rest of the day."

"I promise. I won't let you down again, Owen." Those words held more meaning than Curt meant them to, really. He could claim it was a test, see how Owen would react, see if he was still the same Owen he knew 6 years ago. But really it was a promise. A promise that held so much to them both that it wasn't a light passing of words, it gave Owen something to believe in again. Something to grasp onto and keep. Curt's promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from P!nk's 'I'm Not Dead'


End file.
